Another repetitious dream – 3

The outsider look in, from within / looking at

 

Dreams come alive during the morning hours,

long after most of the world – on this side of the sun –

has risen from the fading light of moons glow and dreams.

My dreams ride the steps of escalators from deep down,

where – from the darkened cracks of the subconscious –

 voices speak – in riddles and rhymes – to the conscious

 mind, during those sleepy hours where depression takes hold

and binds, ties one down - in the light of day - to their bed.

My dreams are telling me - as I see myself – I am involved

in what is portrayed upon the screens that lay on the backside

of my, closed, eye lids that hide from the outside world

 a true view of my soul and all that is whispered in secret.

 Phrases depicting – as I, in states of lucidity – watch the play

unfold – from my balcony chair – as I become the actor,

and in this, a one man play, I am all the parts of all the characters  

that have danced, strutted, pranced, crawled before these eyes.

Eyes that catch the essence of the story but not the subplots,

nor the beginning, the middle, the end, or what lies between

the lines set within the heart of all the prose, poetry and rhymes.

And so, as the outsider looking in, looking at the insider

looking out, comes from within, is the script writer, the actor,

preforming all the parts, with all the nuances projected,

that awake, never comes to light, except in small flakes,

specks and flecks upon the mirror he hold, reflecting  

  the images of the child, the boy, the youth, the man, the aged.

The strange world of dreams !!!

 

B. J. “A ” 2

June 19^th 2005